


Breathe

by donteatmyfingerprints



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donteatmyfingerprints/pseuds/donteatmyfingerprints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extended scene for 4x09</p><p>After Root got so used to Her silences, her abrupt two-worded message in the middle of the day caught her off-guard, before the realization kicked in.</p><p>Sameen Grey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Since everyone was doing a 4x09 deleted scene, I figured I'd join the party with an extended one.

Root gripped the handlebars of the motorcycle and accelerated as hard as she could, weaving through traffic, not even caring if she was beating red lights. Her chest feels tight, too tight, and the last warning message from The Machine still clear in her head. After Root got so used to Her silences, her abrupt two-worded message in the middle of the day caught her off-guard, before the realization kicked in.

 

 _Sameen Grey_.

 

She wasn’t sure how, or why they didn’t get an earlier warning, but she knew She was risking a lot just to pass this message directly to Root, without an encrypted cipher; they both were. So she’d grabbed a bike, and prayed to God – her God, any God, that she would get there on time.

 

Root was three blocks away when she saw people running out of the department store Shaw worked at. She was gripping the handlebars so hard her knuckles felt numb. She tried to focus on the traffic, telling herself to just focus on the road and get there as fast as she could.

 

She was one block away when she saw the people who were doing the screaming, and heard the gunshots. Her heartbeat feels erratic, and her breathing shallow, and her mind is both exploding with possibilities and a muted blank at the same time. She wills herself go faster desperately, tried not to think about how she might have been too late, and then, _Oh thank god-_

She sees Shaw in one piece pushing out a side door, just in time for her to throw her the spare helmet. When she tells Shaw to get on, she hears her own voice shake, unsteady compared to Shaw’s composure even in the face of a shootout, and hopes no one heard it too.

 

Shaw doesn’t put her arms around her no matter how fast they went, or how many sharp corners she took. Shaw’s hands are firmly planted on both sides of the bike, but still Root can feel her behind, warm against her back, the heat a hairline away, _alive_.

 

Root focuses on the shadow map, tries to find them a safe place, dodging anything that looks like it could be Samaritan’s agents. Her mind runs through roads, the map of the city, frantically praying that she doesn’t recall them wrongly. The Machine does not help, and she does not begrudge that. She is thankful, that Her warning came in time. She will never be more thankful. She sees a ramp up to a mover’s truck, and relief washes over her for a second as she parks the bike inside.

 

“Nice parking job.”

 

“We’re in a camera-dead zone,” Root says, and once again wishes her voice sounded calmer than she felt.

 

“I’m guessing the psycho blonde wasn’t there for our free tote bag promotion,” Shaw jokes while they cover up the bike, and Root feels a mix of worry, relief and frustration threaten to overwhelm her.

 

“No,” Root grits out, resisting the urge to snap, trying not to take this out on Shaw. She reminds herself that this is not Shaw’s fault. It was bound to happen, though hopefully later rather than sooner. “Your cover’s been blown.”

 

She hears the movers closing in on them, and steps further into the truck, dragging Shaw with her, scanning fast and figuring out where to hide. It’s the slight numbness in her hand that makes her realize how hard she is gripping Shaw’s, and she lets go like she was burning them both, and shoves Shaw to a corner, arm instinctively coming up to shield her. They both watch with bated breath as the movers load up more things in the truck.

 

It is only when they shut out the last rays of light and shut the doors of the truck that Root feels the position they are both in. In the back of the truck, every sound is an echo, and when she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, she hears it all around her, enveloping them both. The truck engine revs to life at the same time. Root hopes that Shaw cannot hear her racing heart right now, or her shallow breaths, but knows there’s a very likely chance she can, what with her being fully pressed up against Shaw’s back, arm still frozen over Shaw’s chest.

  
The truck shakes, and Root takes a moment to glance down at the side of Shaw’s head, frozen in place. She doesn’t want to admit that she’s doing it, but she knows that she’s the one to inch a little closer, grazing her cheek against Shaw’s hair just slightly, but it seems to snap the shorter woman out of the status they were in.

 

“You can let go now,” Shaw says warily, but Root doesn’t. In fact, she tightens her arms around Shaw, pressing closer, her cheek now fully resting on Shaw’s head, the back of Shaw pressed firmly against her. She can feel the warmth of Shaw's lithe form burn into the front of her shirt. They’re always danced along a fine line, covering up what they mean with excuses and irrelevant justifications, but Root finds that at this moment, she really couldn’t care less. She desperately wants to feel Shaw’s skin, but she can’t, so she takes the next best thing.

 

She just needs a moment, just one, to feel that Shaw is here, is present, is alive. Shaw may roll her eyes and grouse all she wants, but Root knows that Shaw _understands_ this, understands that Root needs this, and the fact that Shaw doesn’t just shove her away makes her heart race in a completely different way from before.

 

She exhales against Shaw, forcing herself to not make this a thing. Her moment is almost up, and she knows the next steps to their dance.

 

“I’ve got her, Harry,” she says, more for Shaw’s benefit than hers, at the same time that her hands wander around Shaw’s torso, searching for wounds or bullet-holes, knowing exactly the way Shaw would take it.

 

“Oh thank goodness. And you’re okay, Miss Shaw?” Even as Harold’s worried voice comes over the shared communication lines, Root glances down at Shaw, their lips a breath away.

 

She inhales even as Shaw exhales, smelling the sickly sweet perfume that Shaw is surrounded by all day at her cover job, concealing up her usual smell of gunpowder and wood. She likes that about Shaw. The smell of wood, like the forest, and in the mornings she reminded Root of dew awakening too. She knows her moment is up, but she cannot help wanting to prolong it.

 

There are so many things Root wants to say, if they had the time, if they were two different people in a different life. She wants to be the one that asks if Shaw is okay, instead of using Harold like a shield. She thinks if she doesn’t taste Shaw’s lips on her right now, she might lose her sanity, and she can't seem to focus on anything else but the fact that Shaw's lips are less than _an inch-_

 

It is when her previously roving hands still on Shaw’s body that seems to highlight to Shaw the grave and darker thoughts on Root’s mind, that finally breaks their carefully constructed dynamic, with Shaw elbowing her hard enough for her to slam back onto the wall of the truck.

 

Root covers up that moment of weakness, of caving in to what she really wants and forgetting the mission, forgetting that Harold was _right there_ on the line, with a shaky breath and a bitter smile, even as Shaw shoots her a pointed look and grumbles to Harold.

 

She answers reflexively when Shaw speaks to her, taking a second to collect herself and remember their situation.

 

“Look on the bright side, Sameen, I’m pretty sure you’ve just sold your last tube of luminizer,” she manages, forcing her voice to sound light and flirty. If she’s failing, Shaw doesn’t point it out.

 

She’s thankful for when Harold and Shaw carry the conversation on their own after that, and she hears but barely registers them discuss about what they would do if they get a new number. She feels the weight the barbiturate in her left jacket pocket (extra large dose just in case). By the direction of Harold and Shaw's conversation, Root already knows what she might be forced to do later.

 

She’s thinking of the next step, thinking about their escape routes and chances of survival. None of them will ever understand what she has to do, what The Machine _needs_ her to do. She had her moment (she is grateful), and has established that Shaw is alive and well. Warriors have no time for petty arguments or soft feelings. She is not that lucky.

 

She’s already thinking of where they’re going next.

 

 

 


End file.
